Black Sails in the Sunset
by ElusiveMaverick
Summary: AU. A young girl finds freedom and meaning in a hitherto taboo endeavor. Initially published several years ago under a different name. Eventually, Rogue/Remy
1. Prologue

**So, I wrote this story about six years ago under a different name and spent something resembling months looking for it, which is remarkable. I somehow finally found it close to a few minutes ago. Nothing is altered, though I currently have some qualms with the writing style. The distinctly juvenile, albeit outwardly annoying, dedications are nostalgic to me. Erm. Enjoy. Reviews are very welcome and encouraged as I plan to continue it.**

Disclaimer: 

I do not own the X-Men, however, I do own this reality, and I will do everything I please to it!

**Black Sails in the Sunset**

To Chrissi: Thank you for being such a huge help in developing the plotline.

_"I remember when I was told a story of crushed velvet, candle wax and dried-up flowers. The figure on the bed, all dressed up in roses, calling--beckoning to sleep, offering a dream. The words were as mystical as purring animals; the circle of rage--the voices on the stage appeared. The time was so tangible; I'll never let it go. Ghost stories handed down--reached secret tunnels below. No one could see me. I fell into yesterday. Our dreams seemed not far away. I want to stay. I fell into fantasy."__  
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-- Excerpt from 'The Days of the Phoenix' by AFI

In an incandescent, bewitching pattern, the fleeing clouds gathered over the cliff, which overlooked the ocean, at the base of Angelicstone. With the innocence of springtime's symbolic bunny or the cynical alertness and hunter's pride of the wilderness, they struggled to obtain their place on the vortex above her. She looked at them detachedly, noting the stunning circle of meaningless beauty that they'd create, which could be destroyed with the slightest touch. It had the blissfully unattainable appeal of a daydream, the melancholy, false promise of escapism that she clung to so desperately in times of uncertainty and need. With this routine epiphany, the spinning whirlpool of clouds stopped and reality rushed through her with the subtlety of a tidal wave on a particularly poorly built dock. As expected, Anna was never one for reality, and any substance of it was never welcomed with open arms or even nonchalantly accepted; instead, it was feared and desperately avoided.

The distant haze of blissful nothingness cleared and she was once again on the cliff, overlooking the ocean. With an exasperated sigh, she began to gather her belongings into an emerald-shaded, velvet pouch, but refused to leave so urgently. It had been the once place where she'd escape--where she wouldn't live within the tight restrains of her life and let the spirit that she so carefully, frantically concealed run wildly through the aforementioned clouds of freedom. But, the price was far too high, she admitted ruefully, before taking another glance at the vast horizon. It mocked her in its forbidden cruelty--in her own unworthiness and its superiority. Anna hung her head, blurry, cynical jade eyes resting on the jagged rocks as she took note of the waves crashing along the beach's sandy surface.

For all the times she tried to escape, to close herself off from reality, something dragged her back. Whether it was Raven's bitterly false promise and manipulation that she refused to accept as such out of simple, daughterly adoration, or the bitter fate that led her here, she'd never be allowed to exit this vicious cycle--this tangled web of lies and pain. Reality would always strike with its characteristic harshness when she least expected it, and she would be forced to, once again, withdraw into a makeshift, symbolic dome of sweet denial until, once day, she'd lose all sensation and comprehension. When she'd find more security in denial, when repression would become second nature, when...

She pushed the thoughts away, because she knew that she was nearing the point with every consecutive second. She smirked bitterly at what her life had become. The girl with eyes once so vivacious, were now hollow and dry, with no evidence of life or hope. With a sardonic gleam in the aforementioned orbs, she traced the smooth chiffon and silk of her gown, watching as it shone with reflected light. It had all been a lie--everything had been a mask that she'd either chosen to wear out of avoidance of repeated, dire experience or pathetic manipulation at the hand of whichever chose to do so in the given week, month, or year.

Anna stood then, green eyes narrowed to mere slits as she stared at the previously mentioned clouds in agony. Her hands were unconsciously, symbolically balled into fists that she swung freely in demonstration in hatred for the sky--for herself. But they only continued to mock her in their cruelty, with sly gestures of tease and their obtained secrets for bliss. She took a final glance at the horizon with longing, basking in its safety net of inaccessibility and knowledge in its lack of direct power to betray her--to hurt her.

She visibly relaxed then; a familiar, relieved smile returning to her face in desperation in the knowledge that she'd never grow attached. The plague that claimed most of humanity in its seductive demeanor would never obtain her, because she was unsusceptible to it--because she was invulnerable to its cruel appeals and cons. The smile became more ambiguous as a reoccurring, bittersweet epiphany made itself more obvious. She realized once more that the skies and oceans held more promise than humanity's petty lies and falsehoods and reveled in her absence from it--that no one could see her.

With a final glance at her internal symbol for freedom, she took a step off the cliff and prepared her dreaded return to reality, which wasn't hers and never will be. With an anguished sigh, she routinely withdrew her symbolic mask and concealed the girl within--a rogue, escaping on a ship with dramatically defiant, black sails in the infinite sunset.


	2. Chapter 1

**For some unimaginable reason, I seemed to have forgotten that Rogue's name was revealed as 'Anna' in the comics, and kept the initially printed, 'Mercury.' So, all appropriate changes have since been made. Enjoy the rest of the hopeful saga. Reviews are still very much appreciated.**

"You are late for your lesson," the woman at the head of the expansive auditorium quipped in a manner devoid of mirth and humility. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd be able to find your way back from the last joke I assigned you to in hopes that you'd sufficiently prepare for our plans next year."

Mystique was generally renowned as a clever and fearsome woman by those who knew her by that, particular, title. She was incredibly revered by her impressive following, the members of which had developed the sadly amusing habit of stuttering and losing all sense of voluntary motor function in her presence. She was undoubtedly intimidating as Mystique, and equally esteemed as Raven Darkholme – high advisor to the King and private tutor to his daughter, Anna.

"I'm sorry, mum," the girl ranted, frantically gathering the disobedient belongings after they unceremoniously scattered over the glistening floor. She moved a strand of auburn hair behind her ear – a nervous gesture acquired nearly a decade hitherto, at a time when such perceivably common displays of deficient regality were acceptable. "The first mate – Henry – he seemed unusually strong. He anticipated my _every move_!" She paused, sighing. "I went to the dock to rethink my approach. I was too brash in assuming he wouldn't be able to block the initial, invasive maneuver." Anna straightened, then, immediately adopting her characteristically excitable disposition, "I should have allowed him to move first, mother. I don't know why I don't listen to you."

Raven's face softened instantly, allowing her previously arctic eyes to regain an allusion of laughter. "That difficult young man you encountered was me, Rogue." She smiled. Before her bewildered interlocutor found the voice to respond, she continued, stroking her prodigal daughter's hair affectionately. "You've far outgrown what my _dangerously competent_ Brotherhood of has to offer. I'm very proud of you."

The girl blushed, allowing her grin to rival that of a hitherto unspoiled child. "Thank you, mum. I've been practicing. My ambidexterity with wakizashis has tremendously improved and I've learned to keep them concealed at the royal balls."

The tutor's impression instantly hardened as she processed the information. Her perpetual trips to the Far East had proven to be incredibly imperative to her mission. The arrogantly idle knights would never anticipate the stealth, speed and raw power behind her imported weapons. She nodded curtly, as she had become accustomed to in her years as leader of the underground movement against the reigning monarchy. "Good," she replied quickly. "Then, next time, your opponents will be unknown to you. I expect you to stay level headed and calculate your moves quickly. These men will not be John or Pietro – they will show you no observable mercy and will act as though they are your _actual_ adversaries."

Her young protégée nodded quickly, assessing the challenge as though it was her awaited opportunity to prove herself to the woman who had arguably saved her life –or condemned it.


	3. Chapter 2

**Yes, it has been a **_**while**_**. Thankfully, I was able to get a fantastic job within the last year for which writing is a necessity, which is part of the dream, though unfortunately that left little room for fanfic. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon my older stuff two days ago and grew so angry with myself for not updating, that I forced myself to simply sit there and write two pages – those being the section on the pirates. The earlier section on Rogue was written nearly a year ago, I'm afraid. I will be better, though – I promise!**

**Sandshrew777: Thank you so much for your thorough reading and response. I appreciate your attention to my story. I admit it: I love long sentences. Unfortunately, it's a love too intense to shake ;) I agree that Rogue would normally not speak like that, but she was raised a princess in this story, so her speech patterns would also be altered accordingly and Mystique is someone she's actively trying to impress. In her heart of hearts, though, she's still Rogue.**

**gambitfan85: Thank you so much for reading – even more of Anna's background in this one. The origin stories are not going to be linear, so expect to see them in bursts.**

**ishandahalf: Hah! It didn't take five years, but it took nearly one this time. Arg. Well, assuming that this is progress, the next update may only take several months ;) Hopefully much less, though. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Rogue's origin is going to be told through several flashbacks – not entirely in this one scene. Ultimately, who she was is not as important as whom Destiny saw her become – or, more accurately, got a glimpse of her becoming. It's somewhat complicated, but I simply refuse to ruin anything for my wonderful readers. Reviews are my creative sustenance for this, particular, work of fiction. ;)**

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Seven years prior to the princess' last birthday, a decidedly refined woman entered an otherwise destitute village on the outskirts of London, seeking a rare herb to cure her grandmother's seemingly chronic influenza. She was told that the village elder held the continuously sought grass in her hidden chamber, high atop the single mountain at the head of the village. The tall and stoic woman wandered through the muddy roads that laced the settlement, paying no noticeable heed to the quickly-solidifying dirt on her comparatively astronomically-expensive shoes. She gave seemingly no due notice to the carelessly untrimmed branches that occasionally cut through her fine, silk dress. Her mind was elsewhere.

It was on a single, unruly, rebellious girl, who bore a _striking _resemblance to the current king – a rogue mischievously scouring the village with her equally young and impish partner in crime.

"Come on, Bobby," the girl yelled, giggling as she struggled to lift the comparatively enormous mound of mud. Although the child had managed to haul the mass above her head, she was equally successful in completely covering that which will never again be a blue dress. "It's not muddy enough yet! We can't race if it's not muddy!"

The woman furrowed her brow in exasperated annoyance. This simply could not have been the child she was sent to retrieve. Although Irene's visions had never been mistaken before, this surely had to be the first, obligatory exception to the proverbial rule. It simply had to be, Raven thought. The girl was unkempt and wild. It would take considerable time before she would be presented to the court as the missing princess, having finally returned from her extended stay at one of the more prestigious Swiss sanatoriums.

Yet, despite her visible brusqueness, there was an unmistakable fire to the girl – it seemed at least partially responsible for her current behavior and the undeniable source of a hidden drive. It simultaneously fed and used her. This became strikingly obvious when the girl was approached by an adult. Although noticeably shy and incredibly quiet, there was a curious strength behind her challenging, green eyes, as though she meant to tell her towering oppressor that only time stood between their inevitable switch of positions – temporarily so.

"Yes, ma'am. We'll move," she sullenly answered. The adult nodded, though her interlocutor's voice was barely raised above a whisper. The girl's young companion seemed equally disappointed, setting his own mud pie down in a manner that left little room for further adventure.

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"Oy! Hoist 'em up – higher," yelled a decadently attractive man with a demeanor wholly befitting a captain, had it not been for his young age and occasional lapse in mannerism. Indeed, the rustic-haired youth bore an uncanny resemblance to the smug Adonis – or perhaps Narcissus – perched as he was at the Blackbird's bow, one foot on the railing.

At least those were the thoughts of one Jubilation Lee, who had been so inclined to misbehave and nearly get them killed at their previous port of call that she had been saddled into what she thought was the cruelest punishment imaginable – being forced to study the proper dimensions and schemas of the basis of contemporary art.

The ship's doctor, Henry McCoy, an unusually strong and stocky physician from Belfast, played torturer for this ordeal and Jubilation, or Jubilee as she had come to be called by the surrounding adults, was highly displeased with him – that and a proper young lady should have a profound understanding of art.

"How can you see them if they're behind you," Jubilee asked in a manner she thought pragmatic, with all the subtlety and elegance traditionally associated with her age group.

But the shipmates had become more than used to her teenage antics at this point and merely chuckled in response to their universally perceived spunky sprite.

An orphan from greater China, Jubilee was discovered by the crew of the Blackbird on a standard "steal'n'sell" mission. She was no more than ten-years-old and woefully skinny, apparently attempting to steal some berries from a street peddler.

Although each crewmember regarded her impish behavior as uniquely charming, it was the ship's captain, James Howlett, who fell in love with her brusque, though strangely dignified demeanor. She had reminded him of himself at her age, he would insist. Behind her undeniably brash countenance lived an explosive, though righteous ire that he found befitting for a crewmember of the Blackbird – however young and capricious.

Berries safely in hand, the young street urchin was thereafter taken as the youngest member of the Blackbird.

"He can tell by th' wind, lass," answered her prodigal father, who certainly preferred 'Logan' to his given name. "You'd 'ave known that if you paid attention more," he chided gently. "This is goin' to be your future one day."

"I do pay attention! I just think there's more to what we do than minding the ship. We steal, we sell, we stock, we distribute – we fight! _That's_ what I want to do. I want to be more involved in your fights."

"Fightin' is the least of what this job is about. We help people. We do that first."

"I don't see how my knownin' a library's worth about sails is going to help anyone."

It had been a conversation they shared dozens of times with nearly the same result. Jubilation would always leave the deck in a characteristic fume and Logan would silently stand at the ship's stern, emitting an aura of distinct danger while smoking a cigar in a way easily construed as violently suggestive.

Instead, this time, he simply told her that one day she would understand and thereafter left to plan their next operation.

Jubilation, on the other hand, went back to studying the irresistibly charming first mate, who was now basking in the frugal sun of the English Channel.

His smooth, French accent only added to the appeal – the enigma surrounding Remy LeBeau, Jubilee thought idly, tapping her feather against her cheek. He had not been with the Blackbird for long – had stumbled upon them in a forest with the captain's lover, who he had apparently rescued from a particularly dangerous and influential bandit, the Shadow King. Although much of the crew regarded him warily, she had insisted that he was honorable, in spite of his various and highly noticeable moral ambiguities.

He quickly rose among the ranks in the small crew, as his capacity for strategy was surprisingly high, proving that he more than deserved his nickname of "Gambit." Where he had learned such tactics was a mystery, as was the rest of his life before his apparent recruitment.

Only sparsely would the crew suspect his origins – in his solemn apologies toward a Belladonna in his dreams and earnest appeal for the lives of an Etienne and a Genevieve. The most striking of all were the nightmares filled with a desperate pleading – followed by shrill screams where he would ask someone to stop and to leave an undisclosed group alone. He would then almost immediately awaken and anyone who happened to be in his vicinity would politely engage in an unrelated task, feigning obliviousness to the night's events.

Though many became irritated by LeBeau's enigmatic nature, his cunning schemes and considerable bravery ultimately served to win their confidence.

His courage in the fray had been exceptional – and at times bordering on suicidal. More than a few members of the Blackbird found this development disturbing, as they crew had grown close over their lengthy voyages.

It was with this strange duality that the man with deceptively laughing eyes and dangerously inviting grin awaited the next installment of their seemingly endless, self-imposed mission – to help the disadvantaged poor – standing at a pirate ship's bow as it headed to the shores of England.


End file.
